


Blindsided

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Rope Bondage, M/M, hurt!Illya, rope torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Illya finds himself in world of pain at the hands of an unknown assailant.





	Blindsided

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AconitumNapellus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconitumNapellus/gifts).



Illya drifted in little pockets and bubbles of sensation as he regained consciousness. One moment he registered his feet as bare and cold, another moment brought a raging ache in the back of his head and neck. He didn't know if those moments were seconds or minutes apart.

Somewhere down below himself, he felt his limbs being bound, the roughness of the rope burning his wrists, a pain in his elbow as it was wrenched behind his back. Something long pressed into his back as the weight of his arms were tied to it.

Eyes flickering open, Illya felt the solid weight of cloth wrapped around his head, robbing him of any visual clues. Another length of cloth gagged him, the taste of the freshly laundered linen somehow revived him a little as he listened, searching for escape.

His unseen assailant rolled him onto his side and he felt himself being raised by the ropes around his middle, body parallel to the floor. A rope around his right ankle tightened, pressing some sort of hollow rod against it. He felt the other end of the rope tied against his left knee, the rod acting as a wedge. His ankle bone started to grate against the hollow end of the rod and he tried to adjust his posture. The sudden pain as a rope tightened around his neck made Illya gasp in shock. He gingerly moved his ankle slightly only to be choked by the length of rope again. Illya pondered his predicament and tried to move an arm, wincing as a rope tightened against his crotch.

A faint creaking sound came from the ropes as they settled down, his body slowly turning to and fro, then stopping as someone placed a hand on his head, fingers sliding into Illya's hair to take a firm grip.

Illya waited as the slender fingers curled around his hair and long nails dug into his scalp. He felt himself pulled forward, each soft step upon the floor, each groan of the twisting rope sending dread into him. The ropework around his body tightened and twisted, cutting into him as he struggled to breathe. 

As the support ropes tightly curled together, he tried to count how many circuits his attacker had completed, how many times he would have to spin back round if she released him.

She released his hair and he span back, every limb aching, his back on fire, the ropes shuddering and sending new shocks of pain through him.

All this time, she had not spoken. This chilled Illya more than he would admit. Most other times he'd been captured, he'd been subjected to eloquent speeches and grandiose plans. The quieter ones tended to be the most sadistic, and this woman was very quiet.

Illya felt her grab a handful of hair again and he was pulled backwards. He inhaled deeply and braced himself as the ropes creaked and protested. He turned, feeling like a clockwork toy, wound up to be released, skittering around and around. When the ropes were fully taut, she stopped, the moment stretching out as Illya anticipated the release and the dizzying pain. 

Still gagged, Illya knew he couldn't answer questions, so this would be a prelude to the interrogation, a softening up. There was also the terrible knowledge that he had no idea where he was, who his captor was, and most importantly, where Napoleon was.

As he started spinning backwards, Illya fought not to cry out in pain, trying to focus. Memories collided and swirled in his mind as he saw fragments and flashes of the cats, the storm, the boat smashing upon the rocks, Napoleon's warning shout lost in the wind and the rain as his grip failed.

###

Illya span, frantically holding onto the rain-swept mast, the sodden wood defying his grip. He managed to hook a leg around it as the little boat plunged down at an angle, sea water cascading at his feet, threatening to topple him.

“Napoleon!” Illya could barely make out the inside of the cabin, but he was sure that the dark figure inside was struggling to escape the churning water. He twisted around and crept forward as much as he could, anticipating the next wave and bracing for the next mad see-saw.

###

Illya's world was dizziness and nausea, blindness and choking pain. He was reduced to a puppet on a string who could only wait as he span, slowing down to hang in his agonising cocoon of rope.

There was silence as he waited for the next move. He could only hear his own ragged breathing, his own pounding heart as instinct fought against training. He willed himself to a calmer state of mind, fighting the sense of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm his usual stoicism.

As his pulse and breathing settled closer to normal, Illya became aware of a new sound. Something between a whirring and a whooshing, it seemed to be moving to and fro somewhere behind him. Illya puzzled at the noise, it wasn't electrical, it sounded natural, like wind rushing through a tunnel. The sound drew nearer and Illya had a sense that it was rotating around him somehow.

The noise stopped for a moment, then came back in a rush, very fast and hard. It only stopped when something cracked against the sole of Illya's foot, sending a shock of pain through his entire body. He screamed as he shuddered, his leg lurching involuntarily as though to escape the pain. The ropes choked him again, sending a fresh wave of agony throughout his entire being. Somehow, he remained conscious, heart filling with dread as the swooping sound started again.

He braced himself as best he could as the other foot was struck, but it still hurt like a demon.

“Why? What do you want?” Illya's cries were smothered, rendered unintelligible by the gag.

For a few, eternal moments, there was silence as he choked and sobbed. Then there was another crack of pain and he sank into unconsciousness.

###

He was flying, or at least that what it seemed like to Illya. The crest of the wave pulled him up, then dragged him down with a rushing, roaring sound. He could only hope to draw breath each time he popped up. Vaguely aware of a slightly less dark shape somewhere in the darkness front of him, he tried to swim along the current, hoping to find the shape to be an island. He also hoped that Napoleon would magically be there, waiting for him. He didn't normally believe in magic, but when it came to Napoleon, he'd make an exception.

At least the storm itself had stopped and he only had to battle strong winds and a rollercoaster masquerading as the ocean. He swam, slowly and steadily, trying to make out the island's topology as the sky slowly turned from pitch black to just dark black with a hint of grey on the eastern horizon. 

Swim, kick, breath became Illya's routine as the swell of the water pushed him closer to the island. Somewhere behind him, the sun was beginning to rise in the slate grey clouded sky and he got a better sense of where he could make landfall. An ominous set of jagged rocks lined the side he was facing and he had to decide how much energy he could afford to expend trying to swim around them. Dead tired, Illya tried to find a safer course, but the current was strong, and he found himself feeling like a cork bobbing on the waves as he was drawn closer.

He cursed his aching limbs and silently swore at the big, salty mess he was in. The rocks looked like razor blades.

“Looks like you're in for a close shave,” Napoleon's voice said in his mind.

“I can't even die without Napoleon mocking me,” Illya thought to himself as he found himself launched towards the rocks.

He reached out to grab hold, but the rocks were soaked and his grip failed, mercifully, the water pulled him back before he slammed into the rocks. Taking a deep breath, Illya tried again, only to crash against them before being dragged out again. 

“Third time's a charm,” he thought, and by some miracle, his hand got a grip and he found himself lifted up by a surging wave. His feet found purchase and he scrambled up and along the shattered rocks, feeling like a half-drowned cat as he scampered up to stable ground.

Lying exhausted on the ground, Illya looked around, seeing only rocks and trees. With nothing obviously dangerous in sight, Illya passed out.

A few hours later, Illya felt the real world intruding on his dream and he suddenly sat up, fully awake. Thirty or more cats sat around him. The one that had nuzzled him with its nose had dashed away and was watching him carefully from a distance.

“None of you have tails,” Illya found himself saying by way of greeting. This information was met with indifference by the cats, possibly since they were aware of that fact already, possibly also simply because they were cats.

Illya carefully scanned the area again and slowly stood up, still subconsciously feeling the waves. He started towards the trees and noticed the cats following him.

“I have no food,” he whispered. “I'm sorry.”

The cats didn't seem to mind and kept following, sitting down again as he climbed a tree. The higher vantage point offered no new information, so he started down again. Something made him pause and the cats turned, before suddenly fleeing.

Illya tried to hide in the tree's canopy, not willing to be seen before knowing where the hell he was, only to wince at a sudden pain in his neck. As he put his hand up, the tranquiliser dart dislodged and he felt a warmth creep through him as his eyes fluttered shut. He fell.

###

His feet ached, every part of him ached. Illya woke with a choking sob and waited for whatever torment was next. He tasted bamboo in his mouth and tried to push it out with his tongue, but it seemed to be fastened behind his head, probably tied to the spaghetti loops of rope around him.

“Why?” Illya attempted to speak, but it came out as gibberish.

He felt the caress of slender fingers on his cheek, moving to gently cup his jaw. Still she didn't speak, but the swooping sound started again instead.

“No!” Illya wailed, anticipating the strike against his foot. It didn't come, not there, but between his legs. Illya didn't scream, he couldn't make a sound as the sheer pain enveloped him. The ropes shuddered and danced above him.

A small part of Illya's mind counted out the seconds until the ropes settled down, but they didn't. Sharp, new pain ran through his body at each twitch of the ropes. He wondered if his captor was hitting them with the bamboo, and was slightly grateful she wasn't hitting him again.

A few shouts drifted in from somewhere above, metallic and echoing along a corridor. The word _earthquake_ stabbed into his mind, and a new feeling of dread filled Illya's thoughts.

The shaking continued, and a klaxon started wailing in the distance. Through the sound and pain, Illya could make out yelled exchanges.

_Evacuate!_

_Cut him down._

_We must leave!_

As footsteps clattered up the metal stairwell, Illya could feel himself blacking out, head burning from the overwhelming sensations. Silence descended as the klaxon fizzed and crackled, then cut out. The earthquake went on, sending Illya into a different kind of pain each second.

“Are you finished yet”? Illya found himself thinking, just as a rushing sound reached him. There was a crunching and tearing of metal and the rushing was suddenly louder. The air grew colder as Illya realised that water was surging into the chamber.

A memory clicked in Illya's mind. His class was learning about water entering containers of _x_ volume at _y_ speed and were required to calculate the time it would take to fill to a given height.

He'd found those calculations to be oddly soothing, but had never thought he'd have to try them while blindfolded, bound, and being strangled half to death.

Either he'd die of drowning, or of choking, Illya wasn't sure which he preferred, but he was going to find out soon.

There was a metallic groan and he found himself almost weightless for a second, like he was at the crest of a wave. By instinct, he held his breath as he plunged into the water, imagining he heard Napoleon calling his name.

The ice cold water covered him, nearly making him gasp out that last precious breath, he clenched his lips around the bamboo and struggled against the ropes, taking a chance that he could escape somehow. The water-clogged ropes tightened around him as he fought, pain nearly overcoming him, water seeping into his mouth.

He choked one last time and coughed as he lost consciousness.

###

There was a finger in his mouth, and a hand on his face. The fingers weren't a woman's, but larger. Illya fixed onto that detail and struggled to waken. The hands moved over his body and he felt the ropes fall from him.

“Illya!” came a voice.

“Nghbon!” Illya concentrated on the voice and succeeded in opening his eyes, his mouth failed to cooperate, though.

Napoleon knelt down beside him, smiling like the sun. “Did you say my name, or was that a request to buy a snow globe in Mongolian?”

Illya started to parse the correct Mongolian phase but instead smiled back and tried to say Napoleon's name again, failed, then tried to get up, also failing. He pushed back the pain and just smiled wearily.

“Look, there's a utility closet over there, I'll find a blanket for you. Be right back,” Napoleon draped his dry bomber jacket over Illya and ran off, soaking wet.

Illya moved his head slightly to take in his surroundings. A wide corridor slowly spiraled downwards in front of him and he could hear rushing water. He cast a glance upwards to see if the ceiling was in danger of collapsing, then looked back as Napoleon returned, finishing a call on his communicator.

“You know there's about a hundred cats outside? None of them have tails. They probably go and stake out the fishing docks on this island,” Napoleon casually noted as he wrapped Illya up, then slipped his own jacket back on. “There's a damn blizzard going on out there. THRUSHies and our agents chasing each other. We'll get 'em all, though.” His voice softened. “You look like you took a right working over, Illya. Try not to move, I'll get you out of here and into a soft, warm hospital bed.”

“I'd prefer your bed,” rasped Illya.

“All in good time,” Napoleon said soothingly as he sat down against a wall. “In the meantime, we need to wait and stay warm.”

Illya let Napoleon pull him closer, not complaining despite his lingering pain. Napoleon wrapped his arms around his body and gently massaged some warmth into him.

“I intend to kiss every part of you that hurts,” Napoleon said. “I don't care how long that may take.”

Illya smiled as Napoleon leaned in and started from the top. He felt better already.

###

When Illya opened his eyes again, he was a little disconcerted to find himself in a hospital bed. After a moment or two, his memories reorganised themselves and he remembered bits and pieces of the evacuation from the island in a snowstorm, the doctors carefully tending to his wounded body, and Napoleon always by his side.

He looked around the functional hospital room and the whiteness outside the window. It seemed to mute every sound, except his own breathing, He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to find Napoleon at his side again.

“You had a bit of a bad turn there, but you'll be okay,” Napoleon said softly, his eyes warm and full of concern.

“I know, because you're here, Napoleon,” Illya replied, his throat still hurting a little.

“When you were swept overboard, I knew I wouldn't rest until I found you safe and sound,” Napoleon stroked Illya's face as he spoke.

“I refused to believe that you'd gone to a watery grave with that boat. You always have a ridiculous habit of turning up at the right moment,” Illya slowly said. “For which I'm eternally grateful,” he added.

“I ended up shipwrecked on one of the islands closer to the mainland, it was just a short hop to get some backup and track you down,” Napoleon tapped Illya's watch on the nightstand. “Good thing that's waterproof.”

“I wish I were,” Illya muttered. “I think I swallowed half the ocean in one form or another.”

“Once the docs drain the salt out of you, we can go on vacation, help you recuperate. Maybe we should go to Iowa, or the Sahara. Anywhere there's no ocean,” Napoleon said wryly.

“Or earthquakes,” Illya scowled, before adding, “was it as bad as it felt?”

“No, just made a mess. Speaking of which, a truck crashed and spilled all of these along a highway,” Napoleon pulled out a snowglobe from his pocket and shook it.

“An island in the snow? No, thank you,” Illya sighed.

“I thought not. How about some books, and a notebook and pen?” Napoleon grinned as he set a small bag on the nightstand. “Your reading glasses, too, courtesy of Mr. Waverly.”

Illya gazed into Napoleon's eyes, returning Napoleon's smile with a heartfelt smile of his own. “Thank you. For everything, Napoleon.”

“I know you'd do exactly the same for me, Illya,” Napoleon replied, his hand on Illya's.

There was a sudden far away look in Illya's eyes. "Do I remember correctly, that my torturer eluded capture?"

"I'm afraid so, Illya," Napoleon's eyes hardened. "I'll find her if it takes until eternity."

“ _We_ will, Napoleon. We have each other, we always will,' Illya whispered as he laced his fingers in Napoleon's.


End file.
